


A Girl and a Boy

by summerwick



Series: A Boy and a Girl [2]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Lydia with a crush, OC Perspective, OC watches Stydia interact, Oblivious Stiles, Stydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwick/pseuds/summerwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of "A Boy and a Girl". Windy gives Lydia some much needed advice regarding a certain Stilinski and her unspoken feelings for him. She realizes that it's time to take action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Girl and a Boy

The second time I ever saw Lydia Martin at school, she was putting books in what I can only assume is her own locker. The front strands of her hair are pulled back and clipped to the back of her head with a pink bow shaped french clip, except where one stray piece frees itself from its binding and falls effortlessly against the frame of her face. She’s as flawless as last time, her cheeks gently patted with blush and her lips painted like cherries. She sucks her lips into her mouth as she focuses on the books in front of her, shuffling through them to find whatever it is she’s looking for.

I see Stiles approaching her from a mile away, but she’s entirely clueless to his presence. I can’t help the perk of my smile at the sneaky way he approaches, hunched shoulders and his lips quirking in anticipation like he’s up to something. His hands reach around to cover her eyes, and after eliciting a reactive jump of surprise she smacks the hands away and spins around with an elegant eyebrow raised to the tiled ceiling.

Fumbling with my lock while still struggling to maintain my focused curiosity, it takes me a whole minute to finally get the thing open. The contents of my locker nearly tumble forward and whip me in the face, but a reflexive hand stops the embarrassing ordeal from ever occurring.

When I’m finally able to look back at the sweet pair, Lydia has her back pressed against her locker and Stiles is leaning a hand flat over it, just above her shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” she muses, absent mindedly twirling a lock of hair between her middle and forefinger. His eyes trail downward to watch the action before he reaches forward and mimics it, twisting the tips of her bright hair between his fingers with a tender smile playing on his lips. I can almost see his eyes sparkle, even from my awkward angle.

Stiles shrugs in response, but the delicate way his shoulders lift indicates that he knows the answer to this question, and it’s most definitely “yes”.

Panic burbles inside of me as I suddenly worry that maybe I should be in class, but I just as quickly remember that it’s 5th period. I have 5th period off, just like Lydia apparently does and her should be-boyfriend does _not_. It’s still difficult getting to know this new schedule. Even the hallways confuse me. Like the staircases in Harry Potter, they seem to shift and turn until I have no idea which way I’m going or coming from. The maze of Beacon Hills.

“Your dad is going to blame me if you skip,” Lydia noted poignantly, disappointment twitching her lips downward.

“No way, my dad loves you,” Stiles insists, his lips pressing together as his gentle honey-dew eyes regard her in a way I can only hope a man will one day see me. Unfortunately, I’m far too awkward, self-conscious and “ _new girl_ ” to have any guy at Beacon Hills remotely interested in me. Or if they were, they were really awful at expressing it. _But they definitely aren’t._

Lydia beams at him, exposing a set of perfect teeth if I ever did see such a pair. “Really?” Her eyebrows raise enthusiastically at the notion, her eyes looking toward her brain as she (probably) considers what his father may have said about her.

Stiles grins back, his head bobbing. “Oh yeah, he thinks you’re great… but not in the way I do.”

“Yeah?” Lydia’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of scarlet as she persists with rocking feet. “What do _you_ think of me?”

The mole-covered boy nibbles on his watermelon lips as he contemplates his next choice of words, his eyeballs studying hers as if there was some kind of hidden message there, something that told him what she wanted to hear. “I think you’re the bees knees,” he jabs, poking her softly in the ribs with a long index finger.

She manages a “heh” type of laugh, but it sounds a little forced. I’m not even sure if a noise you make by squeaking into a breath can be considered laughter.

As a fellow female, I can easily tell you that it _wasn’t_ what she wanted to hear. She was trying to get a little honesty out of him, take the first step in getting their relationship to actually go somewhere. After the awkwardness of him walking in on us talking about how they should be together at the party, they both kind of brushed it aside because neither of them knew how to handle it, especially not in that moment. But the moment had long since passed, and it was clear that they _still_ hadn’t talked about it. Okay, so maybe I’m not friends with either of these people, but I feel inclined to push them. Their real friends certainly weren’t doing the trick. They only watched on with amused eyes and placed secret bets on when they would finally make it official. I’ve heard them talking about it in the hall the past couple of days.

Stiles pulls back from Lydia, repositioning his bags strap over his shoulder. “But you’re probably right,” he bows his head in misfortune. “I should go to class,” his voice is low and sad, but then his forehead jumps. “Unless… you want me to stay? We can sneak out and get coffee.” He waggles his eyebrows at her, diligently watching for a reaction.

I can tell that Lydia is contemplating the offer, but she doesn’t want his grades to suffer for her sake. “No…” she faltered with a groan. Her tone drops to a whisper and her eyelashes catch dust as they flutter at him. “You should go.”

With the way they’re acting, you’d think he was off to fight a war. My eyes involuntarily roll at the concept and I ignore the pang of jealousy that strikes me hard and fast. Most girls and even guys would kill for someone to look at them the way those two look at each other. Even the things they say and do for each other are selfless and true. And this is coming from a near-complete stranger who just likes watching them interact. It’s a wonder how they’ve managed to stay away from each other for this long.

Stiles huffs a breath exaggeratedly. “ _Fiiine_ , I’ll do the noble big boy thing and get an education, but if a swarm of birds smash through the windows you owe me.”

She cocks her head at him with a flirtatious tug of her lips and a glittery flash in her wide emerald eyes, but I bet you twenty bucks that he’s completely oblivious. “And what would I have to do for you?”

He senses the possible double entendre, but simplistically assumes the inappropriate way it sounded was all in his head. Every other time, probably; I mean he _is_ a man. But not this time. She’s practically seducing him right here in the hall. Okay, maybe not  quite  as beguiling, but she’s definitely coming off strong; it’s the only way to get him to see.

One look at his scrunched face and I know it’s going to take more than that.

“Mmm,” Stiles taps his chin as if he’s in deep thought, though its clear he’s already taken this into consideration. “I’m thinking, two weeks of my laundry.”

She gapes at him. “ _Laundry_?” Lydia’s expression turns sour and her gaze scrutinizing. “You want me to do your laundry..”

His thumb hooks under the strap of his bookbag while his brows knit together in the fashion of bemusement. “I was just joking.. I don’t actually think birds are going to attack my digital arts class. What could they possibly have against photoshop?” He quips with a slowly returning grin.

Lydia’s entire face drops at her friend’s ability to completely miss the point. “Right.” her red lips appear smaller as they flatten securely together.

“Anyways, I’ll see you later.” He tips an invisible hat at her and swivels on his feet. It’s only then that she rolls her eyes in the most dramatic way I thought possible, dropping her hands to her side while still clasping her binder.

That’s when I finally decide to make my presence known, clicking my slowly-peeling flats along the germy tile until our eyes connect.

“Oh, Windy. Hey.” She tucks away her annoyance at Stiles and replaces it with a sturdy smile.

“So you two are still up to the same old song and dance, huh?”

Her line of sight flickers in the direction Stiles went. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stumbles in a stricken flurry of consternation, but drops the facade upon seeing my expression, and what I can only hope is a gracefully lifted eyebrow and not a creepy twitch. “I’m that transparent?”

“Not to him.”

The fiery headed schoolgirl scoffs, shaking her head in a motion that swept up the ends of her hair and ravelled them around her chest, frizzing instantly. “Yeah well he’s about as perceptive as a doorknob.”

“Sounds like you need to open the door.”

Lydia squints her eyes at me in silence for a few long and judgmental seconds. “Don’t get metaphorical on me.”

My lips curl sheepishly “Sorry, I just started taking IB English.” Forcing back any intimidation I involuntarily feel when I’m around her, I continue on with a brush of my shoulder. “Why don’t you do something about it? Stop hinting and just _do_ something. Action is worth so much more than words could ever be.”

“I have an IQ of 170, I already know that,” she snaps sharply. “I also know that just walking up to him and kissing him would be an ill-advised not to mention senseless thing to do.”

“Okay, so maybe I don’t know Stiles nearly as well as you do, but why do you think that would be stupid?” I flatten a hand over my chest. “Personally, I think he’d love it.”  
Lydia grunts and her face tightens because she can’t stand the fact that I don’t understand why it would be such a bad idea. In my own opinion, she needs an outsider's perspective because this is just too personal for her. She can’t see that he feels the same way as her.

Lydia fiercely crosses her arms over the blue of her ensemble. “We aren’t like that, okay?”

I purposefully reel my eyes back in their sockets just to show her how idiotic I think she sounds. “Right,” I snort. “Cuddling in public and rubbing each other’s arms and kissing each other on the head, yeah that’s totally not intimate _at all_.”

She sucks her cheek into her mouth, taking on the vague appearance of a fish. “Okay, let’s hypothetically say I decide to go with your little brainstorm and take some kind of… _action_. What do you propose I do?”

I pause for a long moment. “Actually, I kind of like your idea. Kissing him sounds about right.”

“Hah, I’m leaving now.” Lydia slams her locker shut. “Nice catching up.”

As I watch her saunter away, I call to her retreating back, “So you’re not gonna do it then?”

  
Right after school ends, I get a text.

 

_**2:25 -** _ **Lydia Martin** _: Meet me at my locker now._

 

Even though we’re friendly, Lydia and I are not exactly friends, more so acquaintances than anything else. She was nice enough to introduce me to the rest of her little group, and that was weird enough. They acted like a protective pack of wolves and nearly interrogated me with questions, giving me the third degree like I was gonna try and kill Lydia or something equally baffling. I guess being beautiful doesn’t necessarily make you not strange. But they know her better than I ever could, especially since we’re strangers.

That’s why I found her text especially weird. She took my number down at the party, but she only bothered to message me once or twice since then. So what was up now?

I waited at her locker for a solid five minutes before I started to get particularly annoyed. I was okay with being cancelled on, but being stood up was an absolute no-no for me, and I’m pretty much ready to text her that, until I spot her across the hall with her eyes intently focused on something. One double take toward the spot she’s trained on and I know it’s Stiles, and she’s about to take my advice.

He waves goodbye to the male he was talking to, a classmate that’s unfamiliar to me, and that’s when Lydia takes her first confident steps forward, click-clacking across the hall until she reaches him. Her eyes twinkle toward mine for a brief second, trying to find some kind of assurance to move forward. I offer two thumbs up, and that’s all she needs before she allows him to know she’s right there behind him by tapping a stern finger firmly into the back of his shoulder.

With a slight angle of his head, Stiles glances back to see who’s there. “Oh, hey. I was just about to tex-”

Lydia doesn’t even count to three, because she’s not the kind of girl that needs to find courage within herself. She is a lioness, and she’ll be damned if _Stiles Stilinski,_ of all people, is going to make her a puddy mess of nerves.

So she launches forward, cradling his jaw in her palms as she plants a plump pair of raspberry lips against Stiles shocked ones, which were shaped into a perfect ‘o’ with matching bug-wide eyes in a similar form of confusion, cloudiness glazing over the white of his eyeballs and a grunt of surprise escaping the small space between their pressed mouths.

My smile is just beginning to take hold when his hands tighten around her shoulder blades, brushing against the short blue sleeve of her dress as he pulls her back.

Lydia is reluctant to release his lips, but has little choice in the matter.

“What are you doing?” he lowly murmurs questioningly, his forehead lowered and wrinkled in bewilderment.

I wouldn’t have been able to hear him had I not discretely moved closer. If you can call pretending to open a locker that _isn’t_ mine “discreet”.

Lydia’s gawking stays frozen on his face, large and almond-shaped eyes giving her the appearance of a porcelain babydoll. “I…I just,” she’s trying to form a coherent sentence, and I beg whatever power that be that resides in the sky to give this to her. “I just wanted…”

“What?” He insists, hands still placed on her upper arms without him really noticing.

I can tell that she does, because every so often her gaze flickers down to his hands, like they’re burning a hole through her skin.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia eventually whispers weakly, tearing herself away from his grasp and spinning around so that she can get away from this humiliating situation as soon as possible. I feel so guilty for pushing her into this, I can’t believe that I - _Wait a sec_ . Did he just tug her arm back and _kiss_ her?

Yep. They’re definitely furiously making out against his locker. Should I be watching this?

When his exploring hand makes it’s way to her rear-end and passionately pulls upward, I can feel my cheeks burn red. As well as the rest of the student body currently occupying this hall and most definitely watching with the same fascination as me. A couple of stupid jocks are cackling and pointing, and a couple of girls are giggling and making “icky” faces. Like they have any idea what love is anyway.

According to the production in front of me, love is saliva and ass grabbing.

It takes another ten seconds before Stiles figures out that the rest of the world can see them too, and he this time pulls _himself_ away, but not before placing a few wet chaste kisses on the center of her lips. Okay,  now  it’s a little gross.

They’re both embarrassed and fumbling. Stiles is rubbing the back of his neck with a pasty face of white where Lydia looks like she was attacked by the crayola company, colored with splotches of red and suddenly finding the floor much more interesting than anything else could ever be.

But then, through their mortification, their eyes meet. And a hint of happiness brings out the color there, and with an abrupt adorableness (I don’t think there’s a better way to put it) his face is just as tomato red as hers.

He leans in, their cheeks grazing as he whispers something into her ear. Something I can’t hear, but desperately want to know. And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of teens making way to their buses and cars heading home, and Lydia nearly collapses against his locker, shutting it with her body.

When she finally notices me, my vision quickly averts, pretending to play with the lock that I don’t even know the combination to. Then she’s by my side.

“Were you staring at us the _whole_ time?” She gapes.

“No… I was just.” I slap my hand against the metal before me. “Getting my books.”

“Uhh excuse me?” I jolt in surprise at the unexpected masculine voice.

“Yes?” I ask the student sharply.

“That’s my locker.”

“Oh.” My face burns. “That would explain why it wasn’t opening...heh.” Backing away slowly, I try to ignore Lydia’s smug look.

“So?” She pushes, a grin on her lips.

“So what?” I hold back the snort upon seeing the jumbled mess that is her lipstick, because I’m just going to let her figure that out for herself.

“Did that kiss look as good as it felt?”

“Well, half the hallway now has a boner so I’d say so.” At her laugh, I feel the overwhelming need to ask. “What did he whisper to you?”

“So you _were_ watching!” Lydia reaches up to rub at her mouth, finally feeling the stickiness surrounding the area. With an expression so glowy you’d think she were tinkerbell, she answered me. “It was weird. He said… ‘I knew it would be you’.” she considers this for a moment with lowered eyebrows. “Isn’t that weird?”

I stare across the hall, where Stiles and Scott are happily discussing something. Most likely Lydia. My grin is broad as I watch Scott humor his best friend as he undoubtedly rambles about the incredible kiss, the caramel of his eyes bright and shining with excitement. “Not really.”

 


End file.
